


Messages

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Astin and Lij got together. This is an AU in which Astin gets divorced; there is no adultery in this story. I believe this was my first Lotrips story and was originally posted in 2003.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Magpie, Kermit, Singe and Serai.

_"...anyway, I’m sorry. And I just wanted to give you some warning before you made your reservations to fly back. And, you know, this has been coming for a long time, Sean, but I hated to break into such a big project. I just didn’t want to give you more to worry about while you were in the middle of the main shooting. But now you’ll be done for a while and I know that pickups are almost over and I just -- I just -- I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to come home this time. We can talk more when you’re back in L.A. Wait until then to call me. Please? Alex is fine."_

Sean’s hand moved very slowly after he heard the click that was the sound of the hangup, but he reached out and tapped the stop button, hesitated, and then tapped "Erase Messages". When Sean looked up, there was so much pain in his face that Elijah wondered how Sean’s eyes could be dry. His mouth was a tight line, his lips turned in and pressed together, narrowing them, and his jaw bulged where his teeth were clenched. Elijah looked at that tiny swell of muscle as Sean looked down at the machine, whirring its way to the head of the tape. A fleck of ear glue stuck just above it. Elijah realized his own fingers were damp, and pulled them out of the belt loops of his jeans, wiped his palms down his side seams and rested them on his hips.

Sean had called him, just about a half hour ago.

 _"Can you come over, Elijah? I need to show you something; let you listen to something actually." "Sean, what is it? What’s wrong?" "Just come over, if you can."_

Something had made Elijah fumble out of the shower when he heard the phone, something more than his hatred of voice mail and answering machines. For some reason he had felt he should answer the phone right then, though it was probably Dom inviting him to join them at some club. But it had been Sean. Well, his avoidance of the cold and evil message machines was certainly justified by this little incident. Sean’s call was not one he would have wanted to have to play back. He would not have wanted to make Sean wait even that long. Somehow Elijah had known he should rush to the phone, had drippingly grabbed it up to hear Sean’s voice, flat and dead.

Sean had not said a word when he answered the door, but beckoned him to the bedroom and played him the message. Then Elijah couldn’t believe Christine had been cowardly enough to give him the news like that. But some people just weren’t good at confrontations.

It was late. They had spent the day in Rivendell again, mouthing lines about how ready Sam and Frodo were to go home, how even the magic of the Elves could not measure up to the comfort of the Shire. Bits of irony, bits of details flew around in Elijah’s mind -- the falling leaves on the set, the tight squeeze in Sean’s jaw, Sean’s dry eyes, Sean’s USC sweatshirt, home and not home, Christine was throwing him out. He was stabbed by the desire for a smoke. Sean’s hair was wet, too. Sean was standing there suspended over the silent answering machine, as if waiting for guidance from Elijah’s reaction. Elijah took the one step toward him and hugged him.

"I’m so sorry. And it’s rotten timing."

Sean’s arms came up around him. His chin pressed into Elijah‘s shoulder. "No good timing for something like this."

They stood there, waiting for something. Elijah wasn’t sure what, but he knew it was waiting. His brain danced madly. Sean‘s daughter was fine. What did "fine" mean. Who was it? The message had said there was someone else, another man. The last time he had seen Christine, in California, weeks ago. Christine visiting Sean in New Zealand, months ago, happy or pretending to be. Hugging. Rivendell -- he must have put his arm around Sean a hundred times already today, escorting him away again and again as the cameras had rolled from several balconies. There was a photo of Sean and Alex and Christine on the dresser; Elijah could see it over Sean’s shoulder. Sean’s hair smelled like dandruff shampoo, a sharp chemical smell, vaguely queasy. The USC sweatshirt was quite new, crisp under his hands, not soft like the old nameless navy blue one Elijah had on. He felt Sean’s breath hot on his neck and then Sean was shaking. Elijah let out the breath he had been holding. He was glad Sean was crying. That was better than the cold shock. He held Sean, standing there in the neat bedroom, glad he could do something, thinking about Alex and airports and cigarettes and not about the fierce rebellious hope that wanted to blast up him. Holding it back made his throat very tight. Sean cried. Eventually they plodded to the living room couch.

"...You can stay with me. When we’re done here, you can come straight back and stay with me until you figure out what to do next."

They were sitting. The TV was on with the sound low. Elijah swallowed some more beer; Sean’s was untouched, the bottle resting on his knee, condensation dripping unnoticed around his hand.

Sean nodded vaguely. Elijah didn’t know whether to try to get him to talk or not. He wasn’t sure quite what to do, but it was Elijah whom Sean had called, and that was important. He did know, with total clarity, that Sean should not stay by himself through the night. Eventually he got up and went out to his car and leaned on the hood and lit a cigarette in the windy darkness. He was about halfway through it when Sean followed him out and handed him another beer, which he didn‘t really want.

"Thanks," he said anyway. It was getting to be a spinal reflex, he thought, Sam waiting on Frodo. He was so glad it was him Sean had called to come over. Sean was his best friend in the world.

He flicked away the dead butt of his cigarette, but they kept standing there, finishing the beers, leaning against the cool hood of Elijah’s car, silent.

***

"You know, it wouldn’t be any trouble to set up a bedroom for Alex."

Elijah had thought and thought about what to say to make it clear that he wanted Sean to stay indefinitely, without muddling things up with the subtext. It was a hell of a subtext and it whispered through his mind all the time. It was his duty and his intention to make the subtext a blank to everyone else, and he hoped it was, Christ. He was continually checking up on himself. He was continually examining his own words for absolute purity of intention. He didn’t want to give up his hidden agenda, he just wanted it to be well hidden.

"After this next court date you’ll have the schedule settled, right? So that would be important."

Sean looked at him, faint amazement. Elijah had only been back from Vancouver a week but he could see Sean was doing much better. Some kind of new routine, some kind of new normal, had taken over. There was more clutter in the house, more of Sean’s things leaving themselves scattered instead of packing themselves back into bureaus and dressers and suitcases, as if he were settling down at home instead of existing as the perfect guest.

They had talked nearly every day that Elijah had been gone shooting his movie; trivial stuff, gossipy, work-related stuff. They had both been very busy, which Elijah knew was good.

"Elijah, that’s very generous. I had been thinking that I should get a house, but it ... I don’t know. It just seemed too hard to think about."

"Well, stay. At least for a while. We can do a room just for her, and she can stay with you here. It’s fine with me. I think it’s good for you to have some company and not live by yourself yet."

Sean got up and took his dinner dishes into the kitchen. Elijah sat still and drew a ragged breath. That had been fairly easy. He wanted, so badly, for Sean to stay. And it was so fucking selfish of him.

"You’re probably right. It’s been very nice, being here. Have I thanked you enough for taking me in like this?" Sean’s voice wafted from the kitchen. "I have been so hung up, thinking too much, I probably haven’t said what I should to you."

Sean stood in the kitchen doorway.

"So if I haven’t said it, thanks. You are an incredible friend."

Elijah clasped his hands together in his lap, around the tight knot of his napkin. If he held on tight enough he could meet Sean’s eyes and keep his face cheerful and kind.

He was looking at Sean across half the width of the room, but those ever-shifting hazel eyes were so big, so deep ... they caught him, drowned him as he knew they would. He had to be so careful. They looked at each other, smiling, and Elijah thought Sean was so THERE for once, so here and now. He had been so gone, even though his physical shell came and went, talked on the phone, made plans, made lists, went to work. Tonight his eyes locked with Elijah’s and Elijah felt seen.

His mouth went dry. It was enough, it was too much. It was an authentic piece of Sean, reaching invisible through the air, touching him. He was sure it meant something much different and much less to his friend. It was so very important that Sean be willing to stay.

Casual. Another breath.

"You’ve said it. Of course you have. And of course I’m your friend; I love you. You know that."

It was easy to say it; had always been easy. It was true, too. It was more than true, but Sean didn’t have to know that. Elijah had become very good at giving only what he should and taking nothing.

Sean was coming over. Sean was leaning over and hugging him.

"Thank you. For everything."

Elijah held him tight and for the first time since that night in the rent house in Wellington, tears came to his eyes. Still, though, he had that detachment. _Why are you crying?_ he asked himself, feeling Sean’s warm cheek against his ear, Sean’s chest leaning into his shoulder. _Why are you crying? Relief? Or wanting?_

Sean was ending the hug, sliding his hand across Elijah’s back and squeezing Elijah’s shoulder as he straightened. Then a frown creased his forehead. Elijah ducked his head and swiped at his eyes.

"What’s this?"

"Sean, I’m OK. I just... I’m just so sorry that you have to go through this."

Something inside of him pushed Elijah to his feet, his napkin falling out of his lap, almost off balance in his haste to hide his eyes from Sean‘s inquiring expression. He wrapped his arms around Sean again, closed his eyes. It was a shift, this moment of Sean focused on Elijah, a ray of hope like sunlight. Sean was better.

It was not Elijah’s intention to follow that little ray out into the blinding light that he knew waited for him. He was careful to never look straight at that light, but the heat of it was always there, hope and desire. But he simply had to stand up and hug Sean again -- oh, they were good at brotherly hugging and it was sweet and it had to be enough. The detached observing voice melted back into him for once, just disappeared, silenced by the physical contact. Elijah knew he could hug Sean like this any time, just as he knew he could always tell Sean he loved him and not worry too much about what else that meant to Elijah, and not to Sean.

Sean said, "Hey. It’s OK."

Jesus, what did Sean think, was Sean feeling something in Elijah that needed comforting? Careful.

"It’s getting easier all the time. You do what you have to, you know?"

"I know," Elijah said, standing there with his arms around Sean as long as he dared. He avoided Sean’s eyes and he sat back down and picked up his wineglass.

Sean picked up the salt and pepper shakers and the lasagna dish. Elijah checked again, body memory, catching his breath. No, he was OK. He had done OK. It was delicious, it was wonderful and it was so selfish and the timing was so bad. Blot out that bright light. Don’t look.

Sean seemed to be fine. Because he was saying, "Which bedroom, do you think? And do you want to help me pick out furniture for her?"

***

They were driving one night, quite late. With some of his TV money Sean had bought a shiny black German convertible and Elijah teased him about his midlife crisis and how he would be a real chick magnet now. Sean loved to drive through the Hollywood hills late at night and Elijah loved to go with him, and Sean broke his rule to allow Elijah to smoke in the car as long as they were moving and the top was down. Elijah was always careful with the hot ashes and the lighter. The car had very expensive tan leather upholstery.

One night they were driving around like that and Elijah asked, "Have you thought about dating again?"

"Well." Sean paused, seeming surprised. "No, really, I haven’t. I’ve just been thinking about Alex and about work."

"How long is a decent time to wait before you do?"

"I don’t know. Do you have someone in mind for me?"

"Maybe."

***

His hands wrapped around the handle of a giant teacup, his head fighting the centrifugal force, Elijah thought that yes, it was true. Disneyland was a surprising lot of fun when you were accompanied by a small child who really wanted to meet Mickey and Tinkerbell. And Billy was capable of turning into a small boy who was the exact counterpart of Ally’s real small girl. The five of them plus Sean’s daughter were doing up Disneyland with ribbons. Elijah had planned it, and Dominic and Billy and Orlando had been more than happy to sign on. It was so ridiculous and so fucking middle America and it was obviously the happiest Sean had been in months.

***

Elijah thought about it a lot, especially when he was driving, or in the shower, or in bed at night. How could he approach Sean about this?

The urgency of it came and went, but he was hardly ever sad about it, as he had been right after leaving New Zealand after the principal shooting was over. Then they had been apart, and of course then Sean was married, but now Sean was divorced and always around and these thoughts were not off limits. Elijah was free to indulge in them without guilt. But there were, of course, several insurmountable barriers. Like that Sean was straight. But Elijah got to see him all the time and that was good. They were roommates, brothers, good company. It was very comforting except for the sexual frustration. That’s what he told himself. Comforting. Comfortable.

Like now, he was driving, alone, to a party at his agent’s friend’s house in Beverly Hills and thinking about it. He knew on one level that it was crazy. Sean was so straight. He must be straight; he had been married for years. But Elijah was choosing to think, based on his own experience, that it might not be that simple. It was possible that Sean could want him someday, when he felt better. Elijah wanted to believe it was possible, even though he had never dared to ask about anyone in Sean’s past. Elijah knew only of Christine. He was only hoping, he knew. He knew wishful thinking when he saw it. But still. It was at least possible that Sean was more like he was.

While he had been in Vancouver, Elijah had slept with one of his female costars. He had to admit that he had plunged into that deliberately, hoping to make himself forget all about Sean. But he had been so surprised and pleased when the fling had organically dwindled and morphed into a friendship. Franka was still his friend. But the fling part had failed to erase Sean. So then. He had dated women in his short life, and he had been with men. What did that make him? He preferred to wriggle out of the labels. He liked sex, and he liked people. And he really liked Sean, more than anyone he had met so far. And he wanted him. He wasn’t going to fall into the trap of admitting exactly how far he had fallen. He was not going to pick up. The message from his heart could go on blinking, blinking, and he would not listen. Not yet. He got blasts of hope and yearning that he tried to duck. He tried to keep kidding himself and to be satisfied with what he had now. But he knew without question that he would take the gay label to be with Sean. It really didn’t matter at all. Whatever it was called, whatever someone else would call it, Elijah just wanted it to be real.

He left the car with the valet, pushed his sunglasses up awkwardly on his head, and went through the Greek Revival doors out of the flat light. It was brunch by the pool, which would mean mimosas and screwdrivers and champagne, and if he went outside he could smoke and wear his sunglasses some more. There was Robert, his agent, who somehow always managed cool and effusive at the same time. Robert’s suit was taupe. Taupe!

Elijah made the rounds, slipped outside, collected a drink, lit a cigarette. Shit, there on the other side of the pool was Cate Blanchett. He hadn’t seen her in months.

"Hey lady, will you show me your ring?"

"Elijah!"

They kissed. She looked him up and down. She was going to say it. She said it.

"You’ve gotten so tall."

Well, since she was an actual mother of an actual child, maybe it wasn’t quite so awful. They talked about her baby, and journalism, which was what her movie was about, A Very Serious Movie, and Vancouver.

"Is Sean still with you?"

"Yes, he is."

She smiled, enigmatic as always, and for a moment he wondered if he had majorly misunderstood what had seemed to be a very literal question. She said nothing about the divorce, but talked about Sean’s directing and the publicity for The Lord of the Rings.

As their time was up and the social conventions parted them, Elijah wondered if people would be idly gossiping now about something he only wished were true, for once, instead of the opposite.

***

It was Parents’ Night for Alex. Elijah quietly wound his way through the crowd at the school until he found them; Christine was a step or two away, signing something on a desk. He knelt in front of Alex.

"Your dad is out of town, so he asked me to come instead and take home his papers and tell you that he misses you."

"Did you bring me my pony yet, Uncle Lijah?"

It was a longstanding joke.

"It’s right out in the car. We can get it after the meeting."

He stood up from the child’s hug to meet Christine’s puzzled gaze. She had always liked him, he thought, but she was looking at him oddly.

***

Sean came into the living room, looking at the phone in his hand.

"That was Christine. She wanted to know if there was something about you I needed to tell her. Then she said that if my living arrangements changed she was supposed to know about it. Then she asked me if I were sleeping with you."

Elijah had the ridiculous sense of being found out, though he knew good and well he had done nothing. It had made sense to Sean to send Elijah in his place, but Elijah could see how it might look to Christine.

Elijah just stood there, his eyebrows up. He felt like a small animal caught in the headlights. Surely there was a way to run to safety, to turn this into something warm and dark and not quite so dazzling. But he waited too long to speak. Sean, looking mystified, wandered away.

***

Lately it seemed they had been reading a lot of scripts. Producers were sending them scripts, agents were sending them scripts. They would sit sometimes in the evenings with the sound turned down on the television and have a few beers and read scripts, and the very good ones or the truly awful ones they would read to each other.

Elijah commented, cracking open the binding across his lap, "Look, here’s another Gay Coming of Age. I am getting a little tired of this."

"Hey, a lead is a lead. It was good enough for Tom Hanks; what do you want."

"No, that was Gay Dying Tragically of AIDS."

"You’re saying that would be an improvement."

"No. You’re right. OK, I’m flipping ahead here -- is there a love scene? Oh....kay."

Elijah spun the open script through the air and Sean caught it.

"Look at that. Could you do that?" Elijah demanded. Sean was reading. He read very quickly, turning a page.

"Sure I could; it would be easier or harder depending on who your costar was."

Sean looked up and Elijah saw by how his eyebrows were raised that there was something more on Elijah’s face than concern with possibly lousy lines. Elijah had created the conversation deliberately. He had saved back the script -- which really wasn’t all that awful -- for the right evening.

Sean said, "At least it’s impossible to get typecast as hobbits."

"Do you think I am being typecast as gay?"

Sean was silent a moment, not sure what was going on. Then he said, all business, "You never worry about this. _All I Want;_ how gay was that? _Eternal Sunshine_ \-- nothing gay there?"

"Two Gay Coming of Age scripts in a month."

"What do you want me to say, man? What is it?"

Elijah turned to another script, leaving the question hanging.

***

No matter how he thought about it, it was going to be dorky. The direct approach. The indirect approach. _Sean, can I kiss you? Sean, did you ever think about turning? Sean, run through that scene in that script with me. Let’s try it._ He had actually planned that, and then lost his nerve at the last minute. He had just about decided he would have to be drunk, because then, when Sean kindly turned him away or laughed in his face it would hurt less. He was beginning to think he was quite in love with the guy and he had better do something right away or it would really fucking hurt to finally be told ‘no.’ But then, as long as he didn’t know for sure, he could keep hoping.

***

He had just about decided that out of town would be better. Away from home. More room to run if things went really embarrassing. So it was a matter of how long he wanted to wait. Pickups for _Towers?_ Back in New Zealand. ADR for _Towers?_ London. A premier for _Towers?_ Any city he chose that he could talk Sean into going to. Somehow he couldn’t imagine waiting longer than that.

***

They were at the bar in their old favorite pub in Miramar, watching David Wenham play billiards with one of his Gondorean lackeys. Pickups were going quickly; Peter was expansive and cheerful. There was going to be more of Viggo and Liv, as far as they could tell, lots of Elvish, which pleased Viggo. And some work on the Osgiliath scenes. The climax of the movie had been redone more times than they could count, every time with a bigger speech for Samwise. So that was nice for Sean. But Peter didn‘t seem worried about it. Andy had not been called to New Zealand. It was weird to be doing more _Two Towers_ without Andy.

Sean’s soft voice dropped itself across Elijah’s placid thoughts.

"Can I ask you something.... When did you know you were probably gay?"

Elijah’s heart started beating ridiculously faster. Why would Sean be asking him this now? He turned away from the billiards game, the clicks and muttered cursing in the cool quiet suddenly seeming far away. Sean was leaning on his elbows, studying the interlocking wet rings his beer bottle was making on the shiny wood surface of the bar. He picked the bottle up, put it down again without drinking.

Elijah took a deep breath. "Well, I don’t know. I guess I have always just liked both. It wasn’t so much feeling I was gay, as being attracted to someone in particular, and a lot of the time it’s been guys. Feeling ... wanting" -- Elijah tried to swallow -- "someone in particular is the most important thing to me."

Sean was listening intently, looking at him.

"You aren’t with anybody now, though. I would have noticed. At home, you never go out except with me or when the hobbits or Orlando are in town, or for work."

 _Well, shit. You are never going to get a better opening than this. Too bad you haven‘t had about six more beers._

Deep breath. Steady on those eyes, those shifting opals, catching the light, dazzling. "Well, I haven’t met anyone new since Franka, but I am definitely interested in a man right now."

"Anyone I know?"

Elijah nodded, perhaps a little more emphatically than was really necessary. He had to check; no, he wasn’t drunk yet. He noticed that his heart was pounding, excitement buzzing in his stomach. Hard to tell sometimes; excitement or fear. Sean kept staring at him, level and serious. His changeful eyes were more brown, then more green. The pause stretched out as Sean considered what Elijah meant by that nod.

"Sean, why are you asking me how I knew?"

Instead of answering, Sean leaned in. Sean was closing his eyes. Sean’s hand was on his shoulder. Sean was. Fuck, Sean was going to kiss him. He did kiss him. His head tilted, holding his breath. His lips were warm and parted, and it was careful and over right away. Sean leaned back again and dropped his chin. Elijah was so shocked that he just sat there. He couldn’t even kiss Sean back. No one seemed to have noticed. The billiard balls were still clicking. Elijah heard David’s laugh.

Sean got a slightly pained look on his face, like he was wanting a different reaction than the one he had gotten.

"Because of that. I hope that was all right, to do that."

Elijah could not speak. He had to speak or Sean would think he didn’t like it. All his buzzing thoughts, all his carefully constructed scenarios and his habitual ways of thinking about what was happening, they all slid into dust, like Barad-dur and the entire Land of Mordor, crumbling, in the book.

"Sean. You have no idea." He tried to choke out more than a whisper and kind of succeeded. "It was better than all right."

He was staring, still totally shocked. His friend was watching him with this curious hitch in his neck, as if Sean was bracing himself to pull back, or stand up.

Elijah found a smile breaking out of his shock. He laid his hand on Sean’s arm. "Can we get out of here? I want to go home."

He was reaching for his back pocket with his other hand, pulling out his wallet. He laid a bill on the bar and stood up. The shock was ebbing and the excitement that was replacing it was immense. It was better than applause, better than getting cast, better than Peter‘s "Excellent." It was soft and thunderous. He felt like running down the beach, or dancing all night. He stood there watching Sean stand up. Time had slowed. He stuck his arm around Sean’s neck as they went toward the door and felt Sean’s arm along his back, his thumb finding Elijah’s belt loop. This was just them; they did this kind of touching all the time. But all of a sudden, on a drawn breath, on one kiss, it was different. Elijah felt as if he was breathing pure oxygen. He felt the tenseness in Sean‘s neck and shoulders.

 _Oh, just wait, baby,_ he thought. _Just wait._

He waited for Sean to settle into his seat and to turn toward him, expectant, and Elijah laughed at himself again for all his careful scripting. He felt his mouth stretch into a smile. He put his hand out, slowly, and fitted his palm against Sean’s cheek. This was new. The connection shook him, warmed him. He could feel Sean was breathing fast, too. Sean’s eyes were wary, his eyebrows frowning a tiny bit.

"Let’s try that again," Elijah murmured, and between him leaning in and pulling Sean’s face toward him, the distance closed in a hurry. Sean tasted so good, his sweet breath, his warm self, under the beer. His lips were smooth and hot. The merest scrape of stubble raked the heel of Elijah’s hand and the edges of his lips. They kissed, not tentatively, but rather politely, Elijah thought. He knew _he_ was holding back and wondered how much Sean was. So much he wondered about Sean suddenly. When did this start for him? Clearly Elijah’s hidden agenda had been just a bit too hidden all these months. He was smiling as he tasted Sean, his eyes closed, and then he flashed them open to check Sean’s eyes and saw they were closed. Kisses, and kisses, trying out the angles, trying out the fit of their lips, mouths barely open, sweet and mannerly. Sean made a short sound in the back of his throat, not quite a moan, briefer than a purr, and Elijah felt Sean’s hands smoothing across his shoulder blades, one warm fist settling on the back of his neck. Elijah rested his forehead against Sean’s temple, eyes closed, his hand still cupping Sean’s cheek.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this."

Sean chuckled. "Let’s go home."

Elijah leaned back and looked at him, then took his hand away from Sean’s cheek to turn the key and start the car.  
He remembered at the last minute to pull to the left side.

"Tell me what you feel. What you are asking," Elijah said as he drove.

"Well, I don’t know that I can. I can’t quite untangle it. It’s just pretty clear to me that I want you; it’s been growing on me all year. I, um, I’m glad you don’t think I’m crazy."

"I didn’t say that!" Elijah laughed out loud.

"Ouch."

"I’m glad you don’t think I’m too young."

"I thought it was me who was too old."

"Sean. I want you, too." It seemed like all there was to say. All else there might be to say swarmed in the background, formless and huge. Too much to put into words, too much to feel. It all wouldn’t fit into Elijah’s brain right now. Elijah pulled Sean’s hand to his lips and held it there. Wingnut had rented the same big four-bedroom as before, and was cycling some of the actors through it, putting up others in hotels. This week it was just Sean and Elijah staying there.

Walking up to the house, Elijah felt curiously calm. It was a warm night, so there were no coats to take off or hang up. He realized he had left his wallet and his cigarettes in the car. He noticed the jingle, loud in the empty hall, as he laid the keys on the side table and went on through into the living room. He turned to face Sean as he followed him in. The excitement in his body had spread; he felt it tingling in his chest, his groin, his cheeks. The sense of time standing still was there, too. That observer voice was silent. He wanted to wait, to welcome whatever Sean wanted to do. That was the important thing now -- to be totally open for Sean. This was probably hard for Sean and Elijah did not want it to be. He wanted it to be fucking wonderful.

Sean had left a low table lamp on when they went to the pub. The room was washed in horizontal orange light. Elijah watched Sean as he hesitated, searching Elijah’s face, some of the tenseness gone from his jaw and his shoulders. His face was half shadow, half warm gold. Elijah waited. Sean came toward him and slowly took Elijah by the shoulders and then kept sliding his hands, slid his arms around Elijah and pulled him close. He wasn’t much taller than Elijah, but much more solid and broad. He had been allowed to shed some of the extra weight that Sam Gamgee carried, but not all of it. Elijah hugged him, smelling the pub smoke and the faint chemical tang of his hair. It was like Sean was pressing against him in order to feel him for the first time in the light of his new awareness: shoulders, chest, stomach, and the hard warmth just below that.

"Mmm," Elijah said. He felt Sean sigh. He felt he should say something, explain something. He felt glittery and awake and happy and the want was building from his groin and spreading.

"Look," he whispered into Sean’s hair. "You show me. You set the pace. I am so surprised and amazed and happy -- you have no idea."

"I’m feeling very relieved here," Sean said, and turned his head to meet Elijah’s lips and there was a bunch more eagerness now, and raw want, in his kiss. Elijah slid his hands up to the back of Sean’s head, bunching short hair between his fingers, his mouth opening, his tongue searching, pressing hard against Sean. Oh, but it felt good to give in, to fall, to touch. The time dilation was reversing, time compressing now, sensations crashing in on him as Sean kissed him hungrily and slid his hands up under Elijah’s t-shirt.

"Lij," he was murmuring, and Elijah stepped back a half step so that Sean could pull the shirt up and off. So Elijah had to pull Sean’s shirt, off, too, and drop it to the floor and he felt a whole new wave of glitter and want when they pressed together again. So much warm skin. Sean, with warm, dry hands, explored the backs of his arms, his shoulder muscles, the long groove of his spine. His face pressed into Elijah’s neck.

"This is so weird," Sean said.

Elijah laughed. Impossible not to understand, impossible to be wounded or even concerned now.

"I know. We can slow down; we don’t have to do anything." He kissed Sean’s ear, hands sliding along Sean‘s spine.

"Oh, Lij. I think I’m getting used to the idea pretty damn quickly."

Then they both laughed and before they were finished laughing they were kissing again. Sean tentatively slid his hand under Elijah’s waistband and it rested there, fingers stretching against the beginning of the curve of Elijah’s ass. The touch made Elijah’s breathing accelerate to a new plateau. He was amazed at how relaxed and happy he felt -- it was because it was Sean, he supposed, and he knew so much about him already. Elijah had lived with him, drunk early morning coffee with bad breath with him, bitched and moaned in Feet, and cried in his arms, dressed in Frodo’s rags. So much of the emotional bond had been there for months and it made this so easy and so good. _More, now, would that be all right?_ He opened his eyes into the kissing. Sean stood still, that hand pressing down, halfway under Elijah’s jeans, the other in the middle of his back, fingers spread to soak up whatever he felt moving under Elijah’s skin.

"You feel so good," Sean said.

"You, too," Elijah answered, and trailed his hands across Sean’s skin and up his neck to cup his face for a second, then down his warm chest, over the curved pecs, the nipples, to pause at the top button of Sean’s jeans. He whispered, "Could I?" and slowly, wanting to give Sean time to stop him, worked open the top button, went for the second button, not needing to look to do it, kissing Sean. Elijah’s lips and the warm interior of his mouth were already feeling what he wanted so very much to do next. He gently sucked Sean’s tongue into his mouth and when his lips released it, Sean gasped and said, "If you want to."

The encouragement pushed Elijah’s arousal up a notch and he pushed Sean gently back toward the couch, getting his jeans all unbuttoned, and in one easy motion he was able to push them down along with Sean’s boxers and sit him down. Eyes open now. Elijah wanted to see this. Sean had thrown his head back against the soft square cushion and rested his hand on Elijah’s shoulder as Elijah knelt and brushed his face down Sean’s stomach, buried his face in the warm, clean, curling hair -- Sean just smelled like he was fresh out of the shower, all the time! -- and pressed Sean’s cock against his cheek for a moment with one open hand. Then as he moved his lips up the warm skin, about to go ahead, he glanced up and found Sean had lifted his head so he could watch. Some part of Elijah wanted to ask questions, wanted to talk it over. _Fast or slow? Do you really want me to? Are you OK with this? What would you like first?,_ but that was so silly. The questions receded, squashed into background chatter by the weight and heat of Sean’s cock in his mouth.

"Ahh," he heard, and moaned a little himself in the back of his throat. He moved his head up and down, taking in the length of Sean’s cock and then pulling back almost all the way. He leaned his head against Sean’s thigh, snuggled in closer against his knees, slid his right arm around so that he had an armful of Sean’s thigh and a handful of his ass. This was more real than any daydream, more real than all other similar encounters, because it was Sean, it was his best friend, it was what he had wanted for so long. He was hard, swelling against the zipper of his jeans, and Sean was leaking warmly onto his tongue.

He didn’t need to ask a damn thing. He was guided by the degree to which Sean squeezed hard on his shoulders, and then, later, helplessly scratched at him, then balled his hands into fists against the sides of Elijah’s neck. Elijah had both hands curled just below his own mouth, and everything had speeded up. He moaned himself and felt the front of his own jeans getting damp and more damp. He brought Sean right to the edge, lips and suction and tongue, and he only wanted to be as good at this as he possibly could, so that Sean would know it was fine, better than fine, because Elijah loved him.

"I’m, I’m..." Sean, taut, would have pulled away but Elijah wouldn’t let him, and he came, and Elijah tasted hot bitterness and swallowed it and Sean slumped forward, gasping and moaning. Elijah held him, easing himself back, and they were on the floor in front of the couch, Sean sprawled half over him. Before Sean’s breathing slowed he was fumbling, his eyes squeezed closed, for the front of Elijah’s jeans. Elijah eagerly helped him push them down, and Sean closed his fist around him and stroked, his head on Elijah’s chest, legs tangled in his jeans and in Elijah‘s knees.

The light had Elijah, then, the bright light he had avoided so long, and he was blinded and glad. The carpet was prickly on his back, his jeans and damp underwear crammed around his thighs, but Sean‘s hand was warm and sure on him. He made a strangled sound and came right away, spurting through Sean‘s capturing fingers, his arm tightening around Sean. They lay there, filmed in sweat, panting.

Sean found one of their shirts, wiped his hand, kicked off his shoes and his jeans and snuggled down to level his face with Elijah’s. He propped his head on his arm, and his other hand stroked around Elijah’s face, tracing the edge of his forehead, down his cheek, running a finger across his lips. It was so tender, so friendly. His knee was bent across Elijah’s thighs.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," Elijah said again, afraid he might shed some tears out of sheer relief. He felt he might float toward the ceiling, he felt so light. He had not known, entirely, until this moment, the weight of his hidden agenda. The dim room seemed too bright now, full of golden light, greening and sparkling in Sean’s eyes. He could look all he wanted, float right into them.

"You are wonderful," Sean said. "Words fail me."

They looked at each other for a long time.

***

"What _are_ we holding on to, Sam?"

For two full days, it was all he could do not to just answer his own question by shouting, "Each other!" and bursting out laughing. He had to reach way back to find something big for Frodo to cry about.

***

When they got home to L.A., it was Elijah’s bed they slept in.

The very first morning they were lying there in the dark, muddled by jet lag, and Elijah said, "What do you want to do when Alex comes next weekend?"

"I was just thinking about that."

"Of course you were, dad.... She‘s old enough to notice, or almost old enough."

"I’m not sure what to do. It’s not that I want to not tell anyone, it’s more that I’m not sure what I would tell them if I told them."

Elijah chuckled. Amazingly, he could follow that. "I know. It’s just us right now. I mean, we know who we are, I mean, pretty much."

"That’s the important thing." Sean rolled over on top of him and contemplated his sleepy eyes for a few minutes, then carefully kissed around them. "We’ll have a plan before she comes."

He kissed Elijah some more. Was there anything they couldn’t talk about? What a fucking relief. Nothing to fear -- ever -- with Sean’s skin soaking into his, Sean’s arms around him. It was like his feet touched the ground better, like more air went into his lungs. Or maybe it was that he was smoking less since Sean had moved in, because he always went outside now to do it. Whatever. It was great; it was every bit as sweet as he had imagined.

Sean raised his head again. "I think I want to go back to two beds this weekend while she’s here. We need to think some more about what we tell Christine, because we have to talk to her before we change anything with Alex. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what I expected from her when she got married again."

Elijah nodded, noticing some part of his mind froze at the idea of going back to two beds, wondering if it really was temporary. _Fuck that,_ he told that part of his mind. Sean kissed him one more time and got up to go to the bathroom and then to make coffee, weird though the hour was. Elijah looked at the ceiling and heard the familiar noises of water running and quiet clinking and bubbling from the kitchen. Telling Christine would be the same thing as coming out. What a ridiculous term. He was facing up to it and he was sure Sean was. Newly gay couple, something like that, is what people would label it. Elijah had to get ready for that. Maybe Sean was ready for it.

***

"Did you bring this home?" The glossy pages riffled. A California congressman was on the cover.

"Yes."

"Doing research, are we?"

"Well, I understand it’s a very well regarded news magazine in those circles -- these circles? -- and you know, I never paid much attention to this particular subculture before it applied to me. So I guess I’m catching up."

Elijah adopted a Harvard accent. "Are you in pro-cess of constructing a sexual identity for yourself, Mr. Astin?"

"Come over here and I’ll deconstruct yours, you little shit...."

Elijah dodged, throwing the magazine at him, but it was no use. Sean, breathless and laughing, chased him down and pinned him against the kitchen island and kissed him until Elijah was breathless.

***

"...anyway, I must go, but it’s great that I’m seeing you at Jeff’s party."

"Franka, were you disappointed?"

"About it being a DVD? Me? No. But I know you were."

"Well, nothing is ever quite perfect, is it?"

"No, but sometimes we get close. You shouldn’t complain; you’ve had some other pretty great projects, right? It’s so good to talk to you, Elijah. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks."

"Bye bye, _liebchen._ I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Bye."

He hung up the phone and looked at it.

***

It was definitely not an "A" list party now, but they were proud of what they had done and they all laughed and revisited the jokes of the set and rewrote and reshot the things that they wished they had done differently. Someone had made posters with Mandy’s magazine covers and added silly balloon captions to them. It was not a big party either, and Elijah and Franka got to laugh and catch up and he felt very easy and not at all like smoking and hiding behind his sunglasses. There were plenty of people that Sean knew, too. It all became fun and not obligatory Hollywood at all.

He was bringing Franka another glass of wine, and had stopped on the way to check in with Sean. She took the wine from him and clinked it against his beer bottle.

"What," he said. She was smiling at him thoughtfully, her head tilted. "What?"

"Who is she?"

"What."

"No, tell me. Who is she? You’re glowing. You look great. I know love when I see it. Tell me."

"You can’t say anything, all right? No one knows yet."

"Not -- a word."

Elijah chuckled at the _Two Towers_ quote. He tossed his head toward Sean and Franka’s glance followed. Her smile changed somehow, lost its tease and acquired an air of coy pleasure. She kissed his cheek and nodded.

***

Sean and Elijah had been driving aimlessly in the black Mercedes one Saturday morning and ended up south of the city. They left the convertible in the lot and strolled toward the sand, settling on a standard issue green metal Park Department bench. The surf drowned out the sound of the traffic far behind them on the highway.

Elijah smoked in silence as they listened to the waves. Sean’s hand rested on the back of Elijah’s neck, the stubble of hair left by the clippers prickly under his fingers. He reached across with his other hand and took the last drag off the cigarette himself, then carefully flicked the glowing ash into the sand at their feet and stuffed the butt into his jeans pocket. Only then did he slowly exhale the smoke, experimenting with the immediate buzz that a nonsmoker gets from one lungful.

"Careful, now, I’m rubbing off on you."

"I can only hope." Sean leaned across and kissed Elijah’s mouth, then leaned back and stretched his arms out across the back of the bench. Gulls screamed and wheeled over the waves. The gusting wind brought their cries raggedly to shore.

Sean said, "You just wake up one day and find yourself a member of a club you didn’t even know you belonged to."

"Hey. No one can plan everything out in advance."

"Keep reminding me of that, would you?"

The silence stretched out, companionable and easy, filled by the gulls and the surf.

"You know, I’m enough younger than you --"

"Don’t remind me of _that."_

A shove to Sean’s shoulder. "-- and I was such gypsy, growing up, that I never saw it that way. I was around just film people all that time, and that level, the lower levels without so much publicity, it may be one of the few places in America where the closet is practically empty. So I never got that. What are you? Who are you? Queer is sissy! I just grew up and liked who I liked."

"...You know what?"

"What?"

"I’m going to call Ian."

Elijah nodded. The gulls flew on.

***

"...I told her I was sure she would handle it appropriately with Alex and that I felt it was right that she know before Alex did."

"What did she say?"

"Lij, what _could_ she say? She lost her vote a long time ago. She was fine. She said she was glad we were happy."

"OK, then. Who do we call next? My mom or your mom?"

***

"Sean still there with you?"

"Yup."

"Still not healed up yet. Still needs you."

"Dom, he’s healed enough. How healed do you get from a divorce with a kid involved? He’s fine. He likes it here and I like having him here."

"Uh huh."

"What." Long pause. "You’ll stay here with us for the L.A. premiere, right?"

"Right; you know that."

"But I’ll see you in Wellington first. Sean isn’t going to New Zealand; he’ll be shooting."

"Uh huh. Um, how’s Ian?"

"Ian?"

***

He was learning that with Sean the direct approach was often better. Sean was at his desk doing something with budgets and statements and Elijah walked up beside him, bent down, put a hand on his shoulder and gently slapped a condom, in its neat, flat blue package, on top of the papers. He slid his hand to the back of Sean’s neck as Sean looked up in surprise.

Elijah made his voice warm and low as he knelt, wanting his face to be near Sean‘s. "So, how do you see yourself?"

Sean picked up the condom, turned it nervously between his fingers. "I guess that is the next thing, isn’t it." Elijah knelt there, just smiling. Waiting was all he had to do.

"You want to do this."

Elijah nodded. Sean turned, leaned his cheek against Elijah’s so that his eyes were hidden.

Sean said softly, "But how do _you_ want it? What do _you_ want to do?"

"I’ve done both, and I want it to be what you want. I don’t happen to have any rules about it. Some men do."

He felt Sean sigh. Elijah was getting hard just thinking about it, seeing Sean’s shy receptivity.

"I think ... I would like ... very much, to fuck you."

"Now would be good."

***

"Lij, what do we tell them?"

"We don’t have to tell them anything. We just don’t have to hide it. They already figured it out. How could they not? They’re the hobbits!"

***

The message was to call Robert. Not so much effusive on the phone but oh, so, cool.

"I gotta ask you, Elijah. It’s Sean now, isn’t it?"

"Yes." Assertive. Defiant?

Sigh. "Am I always the last to know everything?"

"No. You’re not."

"So that will be, the same wording for the quote on the personal life thing; ‘No one’s business, some things should be private even for a movie actor?’"

"Yes.... Ah, will that work?"

"Hard to say. If you were Orlando Bloom, probably not. For now, for you, I think so. But, after your Jim Carrey release.... Have you talked to Ian?"

***

Sean’s weight shifted back and Elijah opened his eyes, dazzled by the moonlight. Sean was pulling back and Elijah sighed and loosened his legs and let him; he was pulling right out and away, leaving Elijah suddenly, twitchingly empty. Sean leaned down to kiss Elijah’s neck and then his swollen lips. They were both panting, getting there; not too much longer, it would have been. But Sean didn’t roll him over to finish. Elijah felt the breathy whisper against his ear, and twined his fingers into Sean’s hair.

"Can it be my turn now?" Sean said, barely louder than Elijah’s breathing. Elijah’s fingers tightened suddenly, pulling hair.

"Oh, yes," he said.

Sean sat up, his weight on his heels, his knees making a V in the dim light. Elijah sat up and took hold of his head, stretched up to kiss him. He rolled aside and wordlessly pulled at Sean, having him stretch out on his stomach. Sean watched him, chin on forearm, as Elijah rummaged in the bedside drawers. Sean’s penchant for R and D meant the drawers were ridiculously well-stocked with his choice of lubrication. The fruity artificial ones had quickly become jokes. Elijah found a glass bottle with a Williams Sonoma label, and when he began by firmly circling his thumbs between the dimples in the small of Sean’s back, the shiny streaks he left on Sean’s skin smelled lightly of almonds.

He poured more oil, ran his thumbs up the line of muscle on either side of Sean’s spine, stretching to follow his hands so that he could nip Sean’s earlobe, then whisper right in his ear, "Just don’t forget to breathe, and just tell me to stop and wait any time. And you know you can still change your mind."

"But I won’t."

Elijah kissed the part of cheek he could reach, just in front of Sean’s ear, and moved down, his hands sliding firmly along Sean’s spine, down and down until it was Sean’s ass he was kneading. He let one oiled thumb slide in, and Sean’s reaction was "aah," and a lift of his hips. _Oh, shit._ He eased out his thumb and went leisurely on, listening for Sean’s breathing. For once there was no song playing in his mind, nothing but a silver silence like the moonlight that filled the room.

"Yeah," Sean said in a ragged voice as Elijah gently pulled his fingers free. Elijah was shaking with the want of it and the restraint. Sean was spreading his thighs and tilting his hips. God -- "inviting" didn’t begin to cover it.

 _You’ve got to remember to hold still for a minute,_ Elijah told himself when he leaned on the mattress with one hand, gripped his own cock and started to push in, because he was afraid Sean wouldn’t tell him when to wait. He had never done this for someone’s first time before. Tingling around the edges of his own billowing arousal was a fiercer, sharper resolve to make it good for him. Not good. Perfect. It should be perfect.

Slowly, then; and it took a lot of detachment to keep reminding himself to go slow, because, God, Sean was tight, the heat of him welcoming and soft. Elijah pushed barely in and stopped. But in their lovemaking up to now, Sean had watched him and felt him, and Sean also knew exactly what was going on with his own body. It took less than an exhale for Elijah to feel him relax, and in he went. _Jesus._

"Sean," he heard himself call, and he was leaning on both arms, sheathed in Sean’s heat, his thighs pressed against Sean’s ass, licking flames running through him. He stopped there, relishing Sean’s soft moaning. Hips nudged against him and he started to pull back, Sean lifting as he did, their geometry changing until Elijah was fully up on his knees, his hands on Sean’s hips, forcing himself to hold back and stroke softly and short. His mouth had gone dry, and it was hard to stay upright, his stomach muscles keeping his chest up but his shoulders wanting to slump and toss. Christ, it was good. His perspective was melting. Sean was moaning and he was moving against Elijah, wanting more, all ready now. Elijah slashed back on his restraint about halfway, and stroked, all the way in, all the way out. Again. And again, steadily but not hard.

"God. God. Sean." Tight and slick and God he loved this man. Shit.

"Touch me," Sean said, his voice strangled, pushing back harder. There was no reason to hold back any more at all, because of the backed-off angle that was required for Elijah to put his weight on his left arm and lean over to reach around for Sean’s cock and then... just... fuck him.

"Sean, baby..."

"Elijah...Elijah..." a litany, a spell, and Elijah wanted to laugh, it was so fine. Then Sean was coming, pulsing around him, quivering in his hand. Sean sank onto his stomach. Elijah let him rest until the spasms died away, and then thrust again and again, deep and hard. Sean stretched his arms out, his head turned to the side.

"Sean!" It was a shout, as Elijah was caught in the warm white light again, winking out like a nova, collapsing onto Sean’s back, mingling their sweat.

"I love you," he said, his cheek against Sean’s shoulder blade.

"Mmm."

He lay there until he slid free of Sean’s body, and they turned to each other, holding tight even as they drifted off to sleep.

***

They had talked it over: Nothing much had to change in public; they had always been affectionate friends, always would be. No sloppy kissing, which was not their style anyway, now, in public, and they should be fine as far as the tabloid photographers went, and the fans. That was the hope, at least. And Robert was probably right, if they put their pride aside. They were not quite "A" list. Not like Orlando, or Viggo, for that matter, were each turning out to be. Not yet, anyway.

Sean asked, "Can you be a gay couple in Hollywood?"

"I think we’re doomed to find out." They were lying in bed.

"God. I don’t want to hurt your career. I don’t. I couldn’t stand that."

"Sean, it’s way, way too late to worry about that. And anyway, you are more important than my career." Wrong thing to say. It made Sean cry.

"But that would be something I couldn’t get over; it’s like I glommed on to you right in the middle of _Lord of the Rings._ That was your big break! I practically threw myself at you... I never want to stand in your way. You have so much ahead of you."

"Stop it. And you don’t? I loved you first; I did. This is not your fault; how could something so wonderful be someone’s fault, for chrissake? If we stopped all the time to worry about image we’d never do anything at all. Stop talking like that."

The only thing to do at that point was make love to him until he couldn’t think anyway.

***

Elijah came home from the shoot looking sheepish. Sean noticed he had a new leather jacket and was about to make an admiring comment when Elijah slid open the manila envelope he was carrying and thumped a dozen eight by ten’s onto the kitchen table. Embarrassment and pride were at war on his face. Sean glanced at the photos and stopped; he had seen this Elijah before, but never given to the camera like this. Never where someone else could see.

The same jacket with the standup collar, hanging open, shirtless. That wash of sci/fi white light. It picked out the details of the trim on the jacket‘s shoulder, and the texture of one exposed nipple. Elijah looked puzzled in one shot, annoyed in another, staring past the camera. The photos were quite startlingly sexy.

"See how brave you made me?" Elijah said.

***

They were live on national television the night Sean won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for _Return of the King._ The movie was winning so many Oscars that the crew just kept the whole growing crowd of them in the wings and they all piled out again together, an ensemble, just like always, each time someone new got to go to the podium. The sfx people and Richard Taylor and the artists and Howard Shore and Fran and Peter and their kids and Ngila and the actors were crowding round. The air conditioning was blasting cold, the lights were hot and seemed to make the very air billow and swell. Sean’s voice echoed in that weird TV way, through the mike into the auditorium speakers and yet right there in Elijah’s ear for real.

"Clearly, being privileged to be part of _The Lord of the Rings_ has been one of the most important events of my life. There are too many people to thank -- you know who you are -- so I’ll stop with the most important two: My parents, Patty Duke and John Astin. They’re here tonight; there they are. I love you. Thank you."

He held up his statue in one hand and put the other hand to Alex’s shoulder as she reached to kiss him, her satin dress a red splash in that sea of black and white tuxedos. The red dress and the lovely fatherly kiss were what made so many newspapers use that shot the next morning. In the ones that didn’t crop the photo much, Elijah was there in profile, right next to Sean, carefully holding Alex on his hip, steadying her as she leaned out, and the fierce pride on his face was for everyone to see.


End file.
